Oh! Sweet Nuthin'
by TheDeadlyViper
Summary: Set after 5th year and through 6th, Draco Malfoy's world is crumbling beneath him. He finds his escape through drug use and find himself heavily addicted. There is only one person who can possibly save him now.
1. Chapter 1

Oh! Sweet Nuthin'

"My boy. My sweet baby boy!" Narcissa Malfoy wailed out, her voice reverberating off the walls of the parlor room in the Malfoy manor. Draco could hear her quite clearly, from his bedroom on the floor above.

"How could the Dark Lord-" She began only to be cut off by the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her voice was low and throaty, hissing like a snake. Draco couldn't make out what she was saying. And he didn't care. He was lying in his four-poster bed, draped in black velvet. The shades were drawn; leaving him enclosed in a tomb-like dimness. And that suited him just fine. He'd spent most of this past summer, following his fifth year, enshrouded in such darkness and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dead. He found that the thought pleased him. Turning his head to the side, he watched his own blood draw up the dropper's neck with a morbid fascination. Vivid red swirling up and mixing with the opaque fluid, like spilled ink. His arm lay flat against his pillows, a cold, white thing. A dead thing. The crook of his inner arm was exposed. That secret private place where his other hand held a hypodermic needle poised for a moment, in the faint blue river of his vein. But enough with the poetry. He pressed the plunger down with his thumb and let the poison, the beautiful and destructive poison, flood his veins. Downstairs, in the parlor, his mother continued to scream obscenities, cursing the Dark Lord's name and only pausing in her endless monologue to sob and weep. But Draco didn't care. The sweet nothing had come for him. It swept him away in a wave of apathy. The warmth began in the pit of his stomach and spread outward to the tips of his fingers and toes. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore. His mother's weeping a floor below sounded far off and dreamy. None of it mattered. Not Bellatrix Lestrange. Not his father, far away in Azkaban prison. At that moment, not even Lord Voldemort mattered. Draco closed his eyes and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Sometimes he thought it had all begun with his mother. This violent love affair with opiates had started in his childhood. He had memories of his childhood in the Malfoy manor. He could remember being sick in bed. Feverish and sweating. Coughing until his throat was raw and sore. The manor's house elves usually cared for him, bringing fever-reducing potions and chicken noodle soup. But it wasn't good enough. He'd cry and cry until his mother came, in her nightgown and robe. Her pale blonde hair in a stiff braid down her back. She'd sit on his bedside and press a cool hand to his fevered cheek. '_My poor darling.' _She'd coo sweetly and bring out the bottle. She'd feed him the syrup that was sticky and sweet in his mouth. Codeine-based cough syrup. Though he hadn't known what it was then. The codeine always worked. Better than any wizard potion. It made him feel warm and it took away the pain in his throat and chest. It helped him sleep. Eventually Draco found that he could fake the coughs and fevers on nights he simply couldn't sleep. If he cried long and hard enough, his mother always came to bring the sweet syrup in the bottle. It had been his first lesson in life. Throw enough of a fit, and you're bound to get everything you wanted.


	2. The Cure

Chapter 2 – The Cure

**C**odeine was only the beginning, as Draco found out soon enough. The world was rife with a variety of drugs for the taking. Even the wizarding world had it's own problems and solutions to offer. In that way, the wizarding world and the muggle one were one in the same. The wizarding world had potions and plants willing to sell to expand the mind. Potions to make you see things that weren't really there. Potions to cheer you up. Potions to make you love or hate. Potions to ease the mind and relax the body. But Draco wasn't interested in any of those. Why would he want to expand his mind and hallucinate? He only wanted to forget. Taking trips to Knockturn Alley with his father, Draco had quickly found out that the filthy wizards and hags there were willing to sell him practically anything he wanted. Though it hadn't been until this very summer that he'd had the opportunity to discover exactly what could be found and bought. Before then, his father had always been watching. Whenever someone offered him anything, whether it be dark magical items or anything else, his father had been there to pull him away and scold him. Lucius Malfoy had been a strict parent, not one to let his son run wild in the streets. The Malfoy money was always available for the things Draco really needed. Racing brooms for Quidditch. School robes. New cauldrons for potions. Any and all school supplies. But that was the extent of it. But Draco had found that once his father was locked away, the money was his. He could have everything. His mother was enough of a twit to not notice the money missing from the Malfoy vault. Even if she was, there was enough of it. And with his father gone, Draco found himself the new head of the household. It was a position that suited him very well. Though it's not to say he didn't miss his father, certainly he did. But the way he missed his father was in a vague sort of sense. As far as he was concerned, his father had deserved his punishment. He had failed the Dark Lord and he had lost. Thus, he was in Azkaban where he belonged. Aside from all that, once the Dark Lord took over, his father would be released and reunited with his family. Though Draco had to admit, he couldn't count on his father coming out of prison the same person he'd been when he'd gone into it. He wondered how his father was holding up there, locked away on that hellish island and guarded by Dementors. But he had confidence in Lucius, the proud head of the Malfoy house. He was sure, no matter how Azkaban treated him; his father would survive until his release.

Nevertheless, his father being gone and his being in charge of the family's finances, his mother being absolutely thick-headed when it came to money, it made it all the easier to get to the vault and scoop out as much of the family's fortune as he pleased. At first, the thought had been exciting to him. He could buy anything he wanted! Anything at all! It was the first thought that had cheered him all that summer. The only problem was, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Until that old hag had approached him in Knockturn Alley. The hag was one of the few people careless enough to wander out in the alley in broad daylight, aside from Draco himself.

"Draco Malfoy, I presume?" She had croaked at him, flashing a mouth with only a tooth or two in place. "Boy-child of Lucius Malfoy, and heir to the great Malfoy fortune." She said this and cackled at him and Draco was disgusted at the very sight of her. The rags she wore as a substitute for clothing and the face so wrinkled and warty. He'd never seen a thing so ugly. He was about to turn away, but her talon-like hand reached for his wrist, her yellow claw-nails curling around the tender skin of his wrist. "What is it you've come here for boy? I can find it all for you. Books perhaps? Old books. Old magic. Magic to kill all of your enemies? Hexes and curses. Potions? Potions, yes. Yes there are potions poisonous enough to kill a man with a single drop. If you want them."

Draco drew away from her, shaking her grip loose. "I don't want any of those things, thank you." He said in a cold, clipped tone that was meant to send her away. But the hag merely cackled.

"What is it boy? What do you want? You can have anything with that money of yours. Just tell me. What do you want?"

Draco thought on it, for a long time. He wasn't sure how to answer. Finally, in a tone of unease he replied.

"I just want to forget." He murmured. She appeared to be thinking; though it was hard to make out such expressions on her ugly face.

"Forget eh? A befuddlement potion you want?" Draco frowned at the suggestion.

"I could make that myself. I want something strong. Something to forget. Something to make me…feel good. Something to take away memories." At this, her yellow tinted eyes lit up.

"Ah hah! I see. Something to take away your pain, dear boy. Oh yes, we have that. Something to dull the senses. Things made for pleasure." She gave another rasp of a cackle. "Oh come with me, boy-child. I can show you where such things can be found." Draco was still unsure, unsure of trusting a crazy old bat in Knockturn alley. But she had peaked his curiosity. He followed her past the grimy storefronts of the dark alley until they stopped at no shop in particular. He guessed it might have been an Apothecary, specializing in supplies made for dark potions. Potions only used to inflict damage on others. All the expected things were there. Snakeskin. Bottles filled with a substance of deep crimson that he suspected was blood. Wartcap powder. The rest of the supplies he recognized were of a neutral variety. As Professor Snape had taught him long ago, potions could be used for a variety of purposes and not all of those purposes were good. While Draco gazed around the shop, thinking that aside from the darkness, it didn't look much different than any Apothecary in Diagon Alley, the hag approached the shopkeeper.

"Morello, I've brought you the Malfoy child. Money he has, if you might show him something of interest." The hag cooed at the man who stood behind the counter, looking altogether bored.

"What do you want, boy?" The man boomed in such a voice, Draco nearly leapt out of his skin. He was frail and old and mostly toothless, like the hag herself and Draco wondered how such a loud voice could come from such an old man.

"The boy seeks potions to ease his pain. Something to drown his sorrow." At these words, she gave another raspy chuckle and Draco was beginning to find it irritating, though he knew it was the way of hags to cackle and caw at everything.

"Ah. I see. Something stronger than firewhisky I presume." The old man said and had a good laugh himself. "Though it does the trick. Of course, Master Malfoy." The man said the title in a way that was clearly meant to be insulting. "Let me see what I can show you." He disappeared into the back of his shop and returned several minutes later with arms full of bottles and jars, packets of powder and other unmentionable substances. Letting the bottles fall haphazardly onto the countertop, he picked a particular bottle up. Its contents were like a rainbow of swirling colors. Green, red, pink, blue, the colors shifted like liquid stained glass and swirled in the bottle.

"This Master Malfoy, this potion will do the trick I'm sure. A few sips are all it will take and into another world you will go. Like a dream, for a few hours you will be lost to this world." Draco narrowed his eyes at the bottle that the shopkeeper held up for him to see and frowned deeply.

"I'm not interested in that sort of thing. I want to dull my senses. Not expand them. Have you anything with codeine in it?" He asked, dropping his voice to a barely audible level.

"Ah! So it's not wizarding potions you seek. But muggle ones. Yes, I think I might have something more suited to your taste." He leaned forward and began to peruse the jars and bottles. "codeine syrup." He murmured, placing it on the counter. "valium, morphine, laudanum and absinthe. Take your pick, boy."

"Didn't I say, I could find it, child?" The hag cooed sweetly. "Yes, anything at all."

Draco picked up each jar, bottle and powder offered and finally settled on having a bottle of the syrup and a bottle of red and black morphine pills, labeled 20 mgs each. Perhaps, he thought, this was where his mother had gotten the syrup herself. And the valium pills she swallowed handfuls at a time, to help her sleep. He paid the shopkeeper and was about to leave when the hag stepped in his path by the door.

"Don't be selfish boy. Perhaps something for me? For the trouble I've gone to?" She hissed. Draco gave a sigh and dug in his pockets to pay her off as well.

"Thank you. I won't be needing your help anymore." He added coldly.

"Thank you. I won't be needing your help." The hag repeated in a snarl. "Such an ungrateful little wretch!" Draco scowled and had slipped past her, eager to return home before his mother could discover him missing.


	3. Sweet Cousin

Chapter 3 – Sweet Cousin

In the month or so that followed, Draco returned to Knockturn alley a few more times. At first, it had started innocently enough. Though Draco hastened to wonder in reflection, if any of it had been innocent from the very start. Perhaps, with all the powders, pills and liquids going into his system, he was secretly hoping, eventually some of them would mix and he'd simply die. Stop breathing one night and not wake up the next morning. It was a valid possibility. He took the codeine syrup at night, to help him sleep. Just like his dear mother and her valium pills. At first, he was afraid of the morphine pills. The little red and black pills labeled 20 mgs. Afraid of what they might do to him. But it only took so long to work up enough nerve and he swallowed them too. He found the experience pleasant and not much different from the codeine his mother used to feed him. The morphine made him tired and relaxed him. The only difference was that it seemed to numb his limbs. It made his arms and legs feel heavy, and yet, light at the same time. As if he had no arms, nor legs. Even his hands received little sensation.

When he went back to Knockturn Alley, the shopkeeper, whose name was Morello, had widened his stock of muggle drugs for Draco to try. The call of the Malfoy money was too great. He imported and traded with the outside world and procured new substances for Draco to test. Each time Draco came, Morello laid out his supply for Draco's inspection. He gave Draco a general rundown on the side affects of that particular drug and cautions to its use. Morello got everything he could lay hands on but it was the opiates that Draco loved and wanted. He waved away LSD, mushrooms, and marijuana. None of it held his interest. None of those things would keep his nightmares and worries away. None of them would force him to sleep the nights he lay awake wondering what his fate in the following year would be like. He hadn't been addicted to any of them yet. He even stole his mother's valiums and found immediately why she liked them so much. Like the morphine pills, they made him feel sleepy and content. Light-headed and even slightly happy. The more he returned to Knockturn alley to buy the drugs, the more he realized he wasn't the first wizard in the world to do so. He found that it was more than just Morello's shop that sold a variety of recreational wizard potions and muggle drugs alike. Even a few of the Apothecaries in Diagon Alley sidelined in the drug trade. And they were all willing, perfectly willing – to hand Draco whatever they had. They were all eager to get their grubby paws on the Malfoy money.

His first brush with addiction came with a new drug, which was surprisingly different from the opiates he favored. He'd been standing in Morello's shop examining the current collection when Morello had dipped behind the counter. He came bounding up with a wide toothless grin and slapped something onto the counter, as if to say 'Eureka! I've found it!' and he looked altogether very pleased with himself.

"Ah, look here, Malfoy." Morello said, beaming with pride. "I have something new for you. Something you might like." After a few weeks of Draco's constant visits, Morello had dropped the sarcasm. After all, Draco was now funding his meals and the rent for the shop. He couldn't very well go on treating him any less than his finest customer. The old man placed a hand on the counter and drew it up slowly, trying to create suspense. Draco yawned, attempting to look bored, but in reality he was already curious. Beneath his hand was something queer. A clear packet. The stuff inside of the packet was hard to describe. It looked a bit like powdered sugar that had gotten wet, and stuck together in a hard rock. Draco's eyes widened curiously. What in the bloody hell was he supposed to do with powder? Eat it?

"It is called. Ah. Cocaine." Morello held the packet up to the dim lighting of his shop, his own curiosity getting the best of him. "This one is different from the pills and syrups." He added.

"Obviously." Draco said with a touch of sarcasm of his own. Morello frowned and went on anyway.

"It takes a bit of preparation. And if you are so inclined, I can show you exactly what needs to be done to it, before it can be taken in." Morello said, with some pride. The shifty looking man, or wizard, who had sold him the stuff had explained to him all the details before the trade was made. He noticed Draco seemed to be suffering a fit of cold feet. He glanced at the packet uneasily and shifted.

"The persons whom I've traded this for told me it packs quite a punch." Morello laughed a grim sort of laugh. "More so than what I've been selling you. He assures me, that it will certainly fit your needs."

"Oh? And how does one go about ingesting it?" Draco asked, figuring whether he took up the offer or not, it didn't hurt to ask. Morello grinned his smug grin and showed Draco what to do. He showed Draco the process of cutting a chunk off the hard rock that held it together, and grinding it down until it was soft and fine as talcum powder. He used his calling card from the shop to scrap the powder into nice even lines.

"When that is all done, only then can you snort it." Morello finished, leaving the two lines of pure white lying open on his counter and Draco thought he was a complete dolt to not even lock the shop's door. Surely, this couldn't be legal.

"Snort?" He asked, quirking a brow cooly. "Surely you must be joking."

Morello gave a wide and very fake smile. He hated putting up with the child brat, but if it made money, he could fake it.

"Well, Malfoy. If you want to eat it, you may. Though I can't promise what sort of effect it might have. It might be toxic." He said, with a slimy smile. "I have a suggestion. Perhaps sir would like to try what I have here. If it suits you, you may buy the rest. But you are at no obligation to do so." That slimy smile widened. The person who had sold him this strange substance had added that, whoever took it would find themselves coming back for more, time and time again. It was, as he said, an addictive drug. A hard drug. Draco looked at powder on the countertop and at Morello with a rising unease.

"I don't know if I'm quite sold-" he began, only to be cut off by the shopkeeper.

"I can promise you this, Malfoy. I've been guaranteed this stuff is very powerful. I won't tell you the effects. Only that none of them are particularly unpleasant. The taste may cause a slight gag at first, but that all depends on the strength of your gut." He said smoothly. He was a fine salesman. Excellent, if he did say so himself. He smoothed back what little hair he had, greasy and steel gray. Why, he could have sold running shoes to a man with no legs. Or so he thought. It worked. Malfoy was interested. Too curious for his own good, Morello thought.

"I have a very strong stomach, thank you." Draco said crisply, and reached for the strip of paper that Morello had rolled into a tight tube. Draco paused, merely holding the tube of paper in one hand.

"Go on, boy. I don't mind telling you that I've gone to some trouble to obtain this for you." Morello coaxed, almost sweetly. And if Draco had had any second thoughts up until now, it was simply too late. He leaned forward and snorted up one of the lines. It stung his sinuses, but not in a particularly unpleasant way. It didn't burn, as he'd expected it would and it didn't particularly hurt. It was unlike anything he'd ever taken before. Unlike pills or syrups, the effect was nearly immediate. It was like a wave crashing into his body. A wave of pure joy where no negative thought could possibly touch him. The taste was bitter and unpleasant and seemed to wash back up into his throat, whenever he swallowed. But he didn't gag. He found a way to swallow the bitterness. When his head bobbed back up, he was wearing a silly and totally unrefined smile. It didn't make the emotional hurt and pain fade. The problems, the problems of the future were still there. But suddenly, he found he didn't care about them. He was too busy enjoying himself.

"Ah. You like it. I see." Morello beamed with joy. "I knew you would, sir. Like to purchase the rest?" While Morello was busy making a sale, he added a slight warning of caution. "I must warn you, boy. Take too much and your heart is like to seize up and stop. Very little danger, really. Just beware the amount." He himself didn't mind if Draco became addicted, it only meant more money for him. But it wouldn't do to have the boy keel over and die. He'd lose his business and he was well aware of the boy's intimate ties to the Dark Lord. Draco took the rest and made his way home. A mere week passed and he depleted the supply and found himself running back to Knockturn Alley for more. Apparently, Morello had been prepared for this, because he had a fresh stock, ready for blonde-haired twit. It was then that he became aware of his need, this blinding need to obtain more of the potent drug. Draco Malfoy had come to intimate terms with addiction.


	4. Nightmares Into Dreams

Chapter 4 – Nightmares Into Dreams

"_I am tired, I am weary_

_I could sleep for a thousand years_

_A thousand dreams that would awake me_

_Different colors made of tears." _

Looking back from the point of reflection he had now. Draco realized that drugs, hard ones. Changed a person. For life. From that point on, there was no up or down. Right was really left. Left was right. And there was no right or wrong in the world. There were only the things you wanted. More than just that, there was no such thing as addicted and not addicted. When you weren't taking them, it just meant that you didn't have them on your person on in your body. It didn't mean you were any less addicted. In your heart, you still wanted it. But in your mind, you knew you couldn't. That you shouldn't. And that was really what made the whole thing a frightful affair.

The cocaine suited Draco well. Though it had the complete opposite effect of all the syrups and the numerous pills. Instead of slowing him down and making him tired. It had a tendency to speed him up. And because he didn't have anyone to talk to during the long nights, he wound up staying up for hours at a time and writing in his journal. It was a journal, not a diary. A diary was for sensitive weak types, the sort that cried and fainted when emotional. And Draco wasn't a weak type. His entries were often fractured and difficult to follow, because his thoughts came at him so quickly that he found it hard to write one out, before an entirely new topic popped into his mind.

_Dear Journal, _one such entry began and he'd written it in a shaking hand.

_Haven't heard anything about father yet. If mother has heard anything, she hasn't told me. I've hardly spoken to her all summer. Dark mark on my arm seems like it burns all the time. Wonder if it's got some sort of " special" connection to the Dark Lord, like Potter and his ridiculous scar. Mother's a complete idiot. She doesn't suspect anything. Hasn't asked about the money missing from the vault, as the financial affairs are in my hands. Must return to Knockturn Alley soon. Running low on supplies. Gotta get more from the vault. Wondering how much I've spent already? Father's going to kill me. If he ever gets out of prison, that is. _

That's where the entry ended.

Draco didn't like heroin at first. In fact, he hated it. The first time he accepted it from Morello, he swore to himself that he would never take that awful substance ever again. But the promise didn't last long. It had such a powerful kick; it was stronger than all the other drugs combined. Like the cocaine, it came in powdered form. And it had taken him days to work up the nerve to even look at it. It wasn't the pure white that the cocaine had been. It was tinged with traces of slate gray and brown. The colors of death and rot mixed in, to ruin its perfect sublime clarity. A foreshadowing, if he ever saw one. Heroin was one that, even in the wizarding world, he had heard of. Something strong enough to kill a small dragon. But, as he'd previously reflected, he wasn't particularly adverse to the idea of death and so the courage came quickly, once that had been confronted. When he'd taken it from Morello, the man had forked it over with a wary sort of gaze.

"Watch out for this one, Malfoy. It'll knock you on your ass. Probably get you good and sick too. At first. This one isn't one to toy with. You watch out for yourself." And with that having been said, Morello gave him an approximate measure of exactly how much to take.

He waited until his mother was fast asleep in her bedroom. His parents had always slept in separate bedrooms, for as long as Draco could remember. It wasn't that they didn't love each other, in their own way. But they seemed to regard their marriage in a very precise business-like sense. In a way, it almost made him sad to think of his father's room and study. Empty. But free of dust, thanks to the regular cleanings by the manor's house elves. As if the rooms were simply waiting for his father's return.

When his mother was fast asleep, Draco went around his room, picking up anything that had been left out. He snorted it in lines, like the cocaine. It was wonderful and horrible at once. It was much like the morphine, only magnified to tenfold. So powerful that it shared more in common with a cocaine rush. With a whoosh of lost breath, Draco collapsed onto his back, having to remind himself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in….breathe out again. For a moment, he truly feared death. Feared it in a way because it suddenly seemed so eminent. No one could withstand the power of a substance like this, and live to tell about it. But he did live. And when the fear had passed, he was left with the perfect sublime existence he was seeking. He found, suddenly, that he didn't really have to eat. Or move. Even breathing was optional. He was lying back on his bed, looking very closely at the huge aerial plain that was his black silken sheet. The creases in it formed mountains and valleys of black silk. He smiled weakly to himself. It was what he'd been looking for. The ultimate drug. The ultimate eraser of all memory, time, place and feeling. It was sweet nothing. But it was horrible, just the same. It made him nauseous in an awful way. The sort of nausea that was empty. He was sick, but he absolutely could not throw up. He couldn't even stand to move, let alone work up the energy to be sick. So he lay there on his bed, feeling the joy of the nothingness that had swept over him, alternating with the queer nausea that made him dizzy and feel like he was rocking to and fro on a ship at sea.

By the time he'd begun to take the drug through hypodermic needles, provided by Morello at some cost, the nausea had become a constant companion. He stopped coming out of his room aside from trips to the bathroom and trips to Knockturn alley. His mother was too wrapped up in his father and the Dark Lord to mind what her son was up to. Even when she did show some concern, Draco merely locked his door against her until she gave up and went away. The house elves delivered meals on trays, left by his door, which Draco mostly ignored. He found that the less he ate, the less likely he was to become sick when he injected his favored drug. Though he kept a wastebasket at the side of his bed, for when that failed.

The rest of the summer became a haze. Professor Snape came by, occasionally. But Draco couldn't be roused from the bed to even greet the potions master. He could no longer keep track of the days. He slept most of the time. Typically, he'd wake around one or two o'clock in the afternoon, shoot his precious drug. And sleep until the next day, only to repeat the schedule the following day. But he knew it was getting closer and closer to the start of his sixth year at Hogwarts. That thought alone, sent him to the vault more often and to Knockturn alley. He'd already been plotting up something. He knew by now, he needed the drugs. To survive the year. There was no way around that. Finally, a week or so before the start of the year, he returned to the Malfoy vault. And took out more of the money, more than he imagined was possible to spend on something so trivial. He'd already told Morello to prepare himself. To gather as many supplies as was possible. And the man had done his job. He could only procure so much heroin, but in exchange, he tossed in several bottles of the morphine pills, some cocaine and plenty of the codeine syrup. Draco had cleaned out his supply and paid the shopkeeper handsomely for what he had provided. It wasn't enough to survive the year. But enough to last until Christmas, at the very least. He'd pack it all into the bottom of his trunk, locked up in a box that required a key. A key that only he would have on his person at all times. He had no fear of anyone catching him, at least not at first. Though he didn't know how long he could go without being caught altogether. There was no guaranteeing that. Most of the professors, especially Dumbledore and Snape, weren't as dim-witted and oblivious as his mother was. Even his peers were bound to notice the change in him. But that was a problem he'd simply have to deal with as it came to him. Now, he was living his life on a day-to-day basis. He even ran into nosy Potter and company, on one fated day in Madam Malkin's. He'd found enough energy to work up some semblance of his former hatred. He even defended his mother. But didn't care enough to stop Scarhead and his friends as they trailed him, invisibility cloak and all, to Borgin & Burkes. Let Potter figure out his plans, if he insisted. It wasn't as if he could stop it. The tool of war he'd become. He did, however, care enough to make sure he'd lost them before continuing to Morello's shop, further down and more hidden in the alley. Yes, he'd try to keep that one a secret, for as long as he could.

On that final day, Draco packed up his trunk and everything he would need for the next year. He followed through with his plans. He even let his mother kiss his cheek and hug him tightly on the train platform. While he sat in an empty car, awaiting Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, he stared out the window blankly. In the very back of his mind, in that far away place that was once a very sharp and intuitive mind but had become dull and slow, he thought of everything. His father. The Dark Lord. His mother. The dark mark on his arm. His one mission. Kill Albus Dumbledore. He hadn't thought on it much lately, but as the year went on, he imagined it would start to bother him a great deal. But for now. He had the drugs. The drugs would keep him from thinking too much or too hard. The strange part, he thought silently. Was that neither the Dark Lord nor any of his followers had seen fit to contact him throughout the summer. The mark burned, to be sure. But it always burned or so he thought. But perhaps that was all well. Maybe the plan was secret? Maybe none of the other followers knew about it? Yes, he supposed that was very likely.

After his few moments he had in silence to himself, the door to his car slid open. Crabbe and Goyle entered, with the normal blank-faced, dull-witted looks on their faces. They sat wordlessly across from Draco, moving as one force. Draco drew in a deep breath. It was time to approach the new year.

Lyrics taken from The Venus In Furs by The Velvet Underground


	5. Chapter 5

*Note to all – I am SO SORRY it took me so long to update this. I honestly felt like it was just turning into crap. So, sorry for all of you that got stuck on the cliffhanger and were cursing me to write more, here it is! Finally! If anyone is even still interested!*

Oh! Sweet Nuthin'

Chapter Five: Selfish Desires

The ride to Hogwarts was a long one, but Draco hardly noticed. He was so high by the time he'd gotten his seat that it was easy enough to fall asleep. It was perfect. He didn't even need to listen or talk to Pansy Parkinson, though by the time they were nearly there, Draco was starting to get antsy. He didn't think he could sit through the entire feast and the sorting ceremony. He wasn't hungry anyway, as usual. He waited until the Slytherins were seated before he approached the Potions master. It wasn't hard to feign sickness. The smells of the food were already making him want to retch.

"Professor." He murmured, barely above a whisper as he approached the head table. Snape had been stirring some hot drink with a spoon and he looked up at Draco with piercing black eyes that Draco imagined could see right through him.

"Ah. Malfoy. So nice to see you. I trust you've been keeping yourself very busy this summer?" Snape asked and his tone was so venomous that Draco wondered what he'd done wrong. It couldn't be the avoiding, Snape wasn't the type to miss you when you weren't around. So what had he done?

"Yes. Ah. I…I was reading a lot." Draco lied. And very badly at that. "Professor, I'm not feeling very well, I just want to lie down. I'm…really tired."

"Yes, well you look it." Snape replied and his eyes were like black fire. The boy looked much more than tired, he was a horror show. He was gaunt and pale even by Malfoy standards and there were huge, dark circles beneath his eyes. In so many words, he looked like a starving vampire. "Go."

Draco didn't wait around for another word, he left immediately. He only stopped to go to the loo on the ground floor and retch emptily into the toilet for a few minutes. By the time he got to his trunk in the dungeon dormitory, his hands were shaking badly and he could feel prickles of sweat breaking out along his brow. He could hardly get all the keys in the locks and at the moment he was cursing his precautions. But it was all worth it, by the time he'd mixed his precious drug in the spoon and heated it magically. He lay back against his black and silver sheets, holding the needle poised in the air. The point was so sharp and it gleamed silver in the dim lighting. It looked like death and it looked like release all at the same time. Without much more thought on it, he slammed it and gave a soft moan of deep satisfaction. Now he could finally sleep.

He settled into somewhat of a routine, like he had at home. Most days he didn't even bother with breakfast. He used the time that most of the others were eating to mix up his daily dose and by the time he'd finished it was too late and he couldn't eat anyway. Then it was off to Advanced Potions. It was a pain to have to see Snape first thing in the morning, while he was the highest. Most of the time, it was a struggle to not fall asleep and eventually he started shooting up and then finished it with a line of cocaine so that he could at least make it through his first class. Everyday, Snape stared him down with a hard gaze. He'd pop up behind Draco unexpectedly after the class broke off into groups to work the day's potion and say something like,

'Is it coming along nicely, Malfoy?' In a thin voice because Draco had mostly given over the potion making to Crabbe and Goyle. Needless to say, his grades were already abysmal. One day, he spent the last fifteen minutes with his head in his arms on the table in front of him. Faintly behind him, he heard the whispers and laughter of the other students. He wondered vaguely if he'd ever sounded like that, like he was actually enjoying himself and not just suffering through another day. Maybe he had and not so long ago, but not anymore. Class was over then and Snape was excusing everyone. Everyone except him. As Draco began to pile up his books, he heard Snape's voice behind him.

"Not you, Malfoy. You stay right where you are. I want to speak with you." Snape's voice said. Draco swallowed thickly, though he knew this had been coming. Snape leaned against his desk with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like an angry bat, as usual. When the last student had left and the door closed with a hollow thud, Snape began.

"What's wrong with you, Malfoy?" He snapped and scowled. Draco shifted uncomfortably, kicking his feet beneath the table.

"Nothing sir -I" Draco began mumbling weakly, but Snape cut him off.

"Do you think that I'm a fool, boy?" Snape snarled. His dark eyes were flashing his anger.

"No, sir." Draco mumbled, letting his gaze fall onto the table in front of him to avoid looking at the Potions Master.

"Then don't treat me as if I were! You don't eat anymore. You barely pull yourself out of bed and show up for class. Your grades are…well…to put it gently, at this rate you won't graduate at all. Look at yourself in the mirror! You look half-dead! What are you up to and you'd better be honest. Don't make me find out the hard way because you know that I will!" Snape finished his rampage and Draco found that he was strangely unaffected by it.

"I don't care if I graduate or not." Draco replied in a voice that was hollow and without emotion.

"Oh that's a fine attitude! Do you fancy driving the knight bus for a living? If you don't graduate, that's your future! Or maybe you'll be the next gamekeeper, how would you like that?" Snape said, shaking the curtain of black hair from his eyes.

"I don't care." Draco replied with a bit of a shrug.

"I don't care." Snape whined, imitating a petulant tone. "Get out. I can't look at you right now."

Draco stood, gathering his books to his chest and left Snape standing there, rubbing the spot between his eyes as though he were suffering a bad headache.

"Oi, what did he want?" Goyle asked as soon as Draco came out into the corridor.

"To tell me that I'm not going to graduate. He wants to know what I'm up to." Draco replied with a shrug.

Goyle looked over at Crabbe who was standing leaning across the hall and they exchanged a look.

"Well…there is something different about you. Can't say as to what though, but you've 'ave changed." Goyle said at last. Draco was surprised they'd noticed anything at all, he thought the two of them were so dull they'd be the last to catch on to his personality adjustment. Draco gave a shrug.

"Who cares?" He mumbled. It seemed to be his new mantra. Who cares. Not me. He didn't care about anything. Well, one thing. Usually, he waited until the afternoon to shoot up again, but the morning's events must have affected him through the drug-induced haze because it sent him scurrying to the dormitory and to his trunk. He mixed it quick and lay in his bed, drawing the curtains around to envelope himself in darkness. It took roughly a few seconds after he'd slammed the plunger down into his veins to realize that something was wrong. He fell onto his back, breathing in quick, rapid gasps. He couldn't get enough air. He tried to breathe more deeply, but his body wouldn't heed the wishes. He felt like he was being strangled. His world began to swirl in grey and sepia tones and he knew he was going to pass out. Well, he thought, at least he was in bed. That was the last thing he thought, before the blackness came for him.


End file.
